


unless you ask me to

by soyicedcoffee



Series: boy problems [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Worth It
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-01-29 07:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12626379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyicedcoffee/pseuds/soyicedcoffee
Summary: In which Steven's careful compartmentalization comes toppling down.





	1. Chapter 1

Steven does not know why he was so hesitant to come to this party. He’s three and a half drinks in, and he’s in someone’s house that he doesn’t really know very well, but he’s surrounded with his friends and coworkers from the office, and he’s feeling pretty good. They’re all sitting around on couches in the living room, drinking and chatting. Through the haze of the alcohol Steven can still detect some slight weirdness about it, one of the reasons why he didn’t normally go to these weekend get togethers – there’s something about house parties in your late 20s and early 30s, when you’re not quite young enough to be binge drinking and making out in bedrooms, but not quite old enough to be throwing a wine and cheese soirée. It always weirds him out a little, that liminal space they all inhabit. Young adulthood, but not that young anymore.

Nevertheless, he’s having a good time, sitting off to the side. He’s grateful Andrew agreed to DD, so he doesn’t have to worry about finding his way home. And he’s drunk enough now that he’s letting himself watch Andrew a little, sitting on the couch diagonal to him. He revels in the guilty pleasure of watching him take a pull from the root beer he’s drinking, the way his throat bobs.

Everyone’s talking about sex, predictably, since that’s what these conversations always devolve into when it reaches one or two in the morning. This kind of discussion would normally have Steven squeamish and uncomfortable, but his inhibitions are lowered enough that any anxiety immediately melts away. He feels so good, why doesn’t he always come to these things?

“What about you, Andrew?” Jen is asking, and Andrew looks surprised to be picked out, but also game.

“Well, the last guy I was seeing wanted me to tie him up,” Andrew volunteers, and a couple of people laugh. Someone whistles, but Steven can’t tell who.

“Oh my God,” says Jen, leaning forward in her seat, “Was it that guy, Jesse? Did you do it?”

The group is quietly anticipating Andrew’s answer, but Andrew just winks and takes another sip of his drink, the group breaking out in noise and laughter again. Steven can’t take his eyes off Andrew’s throat, again, but he also knows he needs to get out. He must have gone too hard, four drinks tipping him over the edge. He can hear blood rushing in his ears, and he stands up as non-disruptively as possible and heads to the kitchen.

He sits at the kitchen island, resting his cheek on the granite countertop. It’s extraordinarily cool to the touch, and feels so good on his heated face. His thoughts are racing, and his careful compartmentalization is disintegrating. He can barely admit to himself why he fled the living room, but nobody has followed him into the kitchen, so he doesn’t anticipate having to explain himself. It wouldn’t be hard to explain anyway, since Steven rarely has more than one drink at a time, and anyone would assume that he just can’t handle his liquor (which wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate).

But it’s not the alcohol that drew him away from the party; it’s actually his mental state, which seems to be deteriorating quite rapidly. As he rests his head on the counter, he can only think of Andrew, and that guy, who he never met directly but saw once or twice. They hadn’t been serious, as far as Steven could tell, but he would drop Andrew off at work some mornings. They’d get there at the same time as Steven, and Steven would catch them saying goodbye in Jesse’s car. They never kissed goodbye, but their intimacy was apparent, and it left a bad taste in Steven’s mouth that he chose not to contemplate.

What Andrew said should not have been shocking, and Steven knew that. He knew that, hypothetically, Andrew and that guy probably had sex or whatever. And he was fine with that – obviously. And it was obviously none of his business. But Andrew saying it like that, so nonchalantly, the mental image it conjured… it was just too much, for reasons Steven didn’t care to identify. Maybe it was just the feeling of Steven’s careful compartmentalization of Andrew’s sexuality coming toppling down. All of his “Andrew + Bisexual” data was now roaming free in his mind, and it was leaving him dizzy and hot. And he was drunk, and he was feeling it even harder than before, and he was thinking about pulling out his phone and ordering an Uber, because he felt like he had to get home as soon as possible, lest he have an absolute breakdown in this stranger’s house.

Just as he’s reaching to his pocket to grab his phone, Andrew comes striding into the kitchen, empty root beer bottle in hand, and he’s clapping Steven on the shoulder gently.

“Dude, you don’t look so good,” he looks concerned but lightly amused, a natural reactions for someone finding their drunk lightweight of a friend with their face smashed against a kitchen countertop.

“Ugh,” Steven groans, and Andrew laughs, setting down his empty bottle. He reaches for his phone and checks the time.

“We should head out anyway, it’s almost two,” says Andrew. Steven nods, jumping out of the bar stool chair and following Andrew out into the living room to say their goodbyes.

Andrew offers everyone a ride, and Steven prays someone will say yes and save him from the car ride back, but no one does.

\--

So they’re in Andrew’s car, and they’re driving down the highway in the direction of Steven’s apartment, and everything is dark and blurry and surreal. They’re silent, and Steven’s drunk and he can’t stand it. He’s blurting it out before he has a chance to think it through.

“You drive stick.”

Andrew looks surprised at the break in the silence, and then he chuckles, “Yeah.”

“It’s…” Steven trails off, and he can feel his face heating up. He doesn’t understand what’s gotten into him. Why Andrew’s casual discussion with their friends at the party is causing him to act so impulsive and stupid as he runs it over and over in his mind. Because what he was going to say, before he stopped himself, was _it’s hot._

Andrew with one hand on the stick, shifting gears, other casually on the wheel. With his damn hands, his goddamn arms. Nobody in their right mind would deny it. The difference is that most people wouldn’t say it, and Steven _definitely_ wouldn’t normally say it; in fact, it’s the exact kind of thing he’d avoid saying, or even thinking. But he’s intoxicated, not just on the four beers he had at the party, but on their proximity in Andrew’s small sedan, and Andrew’s words running through his mind. _He wanted me to tie him up._ And that smirk that followed, Andrew’s deflective wink, the line of his throat. _Fuck._

Andrew seems nonplussed by Steven’s silence, “I’ve always preferred it. It gives you more control behind the wheel.”

“Ah,” Steven’s going for a sound to simply indicate he found Andrew’s reply interesting, but it comes out like an aborted groan. That was the last thing he needed to hear from Andrew right now… _More control?_ Jesus Christ. And now he’s blushing so hard he’s certain he could no longer blame it on the alcohol, so he turns to look out the window, praying his face is shrouded in darkness, or maybe Andrew isn’t even looking over. He presses his cheek against the cool glass of the window, _get your shit together, Steven._

“What were you gonna say?” Andrew asks, his voice soft, like he’s trying not to scare Steven off.

Steven decides his best bet is to fake innocent, “What? When?”

“I mean, you were going to say something about my driving. You trailed off.”

He’s ready to die. He can’t believe this is happening to him. He really thought Andrew would just drop it. God, damn it.

“Oh, I was just going to say…. Women- people- um, people must find that hot. Do people find that hot?” He laughs awkwardly, more like a wry _ha, ha._ Wow, he would give anything to be not in this car right now. To not have even gone to the party. To not have ever been born.

The silence lasts a beat too many, and he risks a glance over at Andrew. His eyebrows are knitted together in thought, and Steven thinks he spots a slight flush to his cheeks. He realizes his comment must have embarrassed him, but he’s too embarrassed himself to try to remedy the situation. He knows he’d just end up digging himself a bigger hole.

“Man, those four beers really did you in, huh?” Andrew asks. There’s a tone of wry amusement in his voice that leads Steven to believe that he hadn’t offended Andrew too seriously, and Steven breathes a sigh of relief.

And the car is stopped now, right outside the front of Steven’s apartment building. He reaches for the door handle, grateful to finally have an out, but when he looks back at Andrew to thank him for the ride, Andrew is staring at him intently, catching Steven off guard.

“Steven,” he pauses, and seems to be choosing his words carefully. The look on his face is uncharacteristically earnest, and his eyes are glassy and tired. He sighs. “Drink some water when you get in, okay? It’ll help with the hangover.”

Steven wants to say a million different things. He can tell the course of Andrew’s sentence changed during that pause, and he wants to throw his own question right back at him, _what were you gonna say?_ He wants to act belligerent, _I know how drinking works, Andrew. I’m not a kid Andrew. Okay, mom._ What he really, truly wants to say, he can scarcely admit to himself. _Thanks. Thanks for always taking care of me. I love you. Will you come up? Do you want a coffee? Can we talk?_

He settles for a curt, “Okay, thanks for the ride,” and Andrew nods. There’s a flash on his face of some emotion, almost like disappointment. Like he was hoping for something that just didn’t pan out. But Steven thinks his mind might be playing tricks on him, as it is wont to do, so he gets out and slams the car door behind him, not looking back as he sloppily unlocks the front entrance of his building and slips inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Andrew can tell something’s up with Steven. In fact, he’s pretty sure everyone in the office can tell. He’s closed off, awkward, stiff – and Andrew’s seen him like this before, when he gets too in his head. But this time it’s subtly different – in that it seems to be mostly around Andrew. Usually Andrew’s the one who’s able to get Steven out of his shell, not the one who makes him retreat back into it. This, in turn, is making Andrew sad, and annoyed, and irritable as hell, which he’s pretty sure the rest of the office is tapping into as well – several of his coworkers have actually taken him aside and told him to _fix it, god damn it,_ usually shooting a pointed look at Steven looking forlorn at his desk for good measure. Why are they all so sure Andrew’s the one who messed things up, anyway?

He knows he’ll have to confront Steven about it. They’re due to start shooting the next season of Worth It in a week, and there is no way they’ll be able to get any half decent footage when things are so tense between them – when Steven can barely even look him in the eye. He also thinks he’ll go crazy if they don’t work this out – Steven is his best friend in the office, and one of his best friends outside of it too. It’s a testament to how much Andrew relies on Steven’s sunny disposition – he can barely function without Steven around to bug him at his desk, message him memes and new potential locations to try on Worth It, and just generally buzz around and brighten his day. He’s been drinking about double the volume of coffee he normally would, because he just can’t seem to get his day started. Caffeine is a poor replacement for Steven, it turns out.

It’s a spur of the moment decision to get up and find Steven to finally work this out like adults. He’s on autopilot as he walks over to Jen’s desk where Steven is standing over her, laughing at something she’s showing him on her screen.

“Steven, can I talk to you?” Steven jolts a little at the sudden interruption, and turns to face Andrew, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Jen and Steven exchange a glance, and she gives him a small nod. It’s a moment of intimacy and Andrew feels a pang of jealousy he has no right to feel.

“Y-yeah, yeah, of course,” and Steven is nodding now, and following Andrew into one of the miraculously not in use meeting spaces, one of the only places with any privacy in the office.

Steven’s posture is tense. He’s avoiding Andrew’s attempts at eye contact and he’s biting his nails, and on some level Andrew wishes he could spare Steven this whole confrontation. He genuinely considers it for a second, just going on with Worth It without talking about this, because it hurts him to see Steven like this. But he knows in the long run talking it out will probably be better for both of them, so he pushes forward.

“Steven,” he starts, and he’s trying to keep his voice and gentle and neutral as possible, but he can hear the exasperation he’s feeling slipping in as he continues, “What’s going on, man? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything is totally fine. Why would things not be fine?” Steven’s voice is high, verging on hysterical.

Steven’s panic is making Andrew panic, and he decides he needs to take decisive action to calm Steven down. He takes a step towards him and clasps his arm, rubbing up and down his bicep in a way he hopes comes off as… comforting? Friendly? He regrets it the moment he starts, _totally fucking weird, Andrew,_ but Steven does seem to be calming down a little, and he can’t bring himself to stop.

“Well, first off, you’ve been avoiding me like the fucking plague,” Steven actually chuckles a little bit at this, clasping the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand – the one on the arm that Andrew isn’t awkwardly stroking (totally cringe worthy and embarrassing, but he thinks it’s worth it since it seems to have gotten Steven to calm down nearly instantly – he’ll have to remember this tactic for later).

Steven sighs heavily and shakes his head a little, as if to clear his thoughts.

“Honestly I’ve just been trying to work some stuff out lately, there’s been a lot going on,” Steven gestures vaguely towards his head, “like, mentally.”

“Okay,” and Andrew pauses before continuing, afraid to ask, afraid to know the answer to his next question, but he takes a deep breath and continues, “Is it me? Did I do something? I know at the party you got up so suddenly when I-“

“No! No, no, no, Andrew, it’s nothing you did!” Steven cuts him off, and makes eye contact with him for the first time in two full weeks – his eyes are full of panic, but still, it’s eye contact, and Andrew feels like his heart might burst from it, “I swear, it’s me. I’m sorry, I know we have Worth It deadlines coming up, and I haven’t been making this easy.”

“Dude, no, don’t be sorry. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Andrew can feel himself deflating, his annoyance fading away with every moment he spends with Steven. His hand is no longer moving up and down Steven arm, just gently clasping it, and he recognizes the intimacy of the gesture and pulls his hand back, shoving it into his pocket for good measure. He can feel the tips of his ears burning a little, but he makes the conscious decision to push through the embarrassment.

“So, are we good?” asks Andrew, and Steven nods, looking a little sheepish, eyes still on the floor.

That look on Steven’s face, a little embarrassed, lightly blushing… makes Andrew want to do things to him. Because Steven’s so sweet, and the relief at having him back is making Andrew feel a little giddy. He has the sudden urge to just lean forward, capture Steven’s lips with his – and he could, because they’re standing way closer than he thought. It’s something he’s imagined a million times, in a million scenarios, and he pushes it down like always. He takes a step back.

“Okay, great. Well, we really need to get to work on stuff, so want to come over tonight? We can work everything out so we’re all set for next week?”

Steven looks hesitant for a second, but then breaks out in a smile, “Yeah, that’s a good idea. We can get take out?”  
Andrew can feel himself smiling too wide, but he can’t help it. Finally, an end to his Steven withdrawals.


	3. Chapter 3

Steven’s anxious as fuck in the car on the way to Andrew’s, when he rings the buzzer to his apartment- when he hears Andrew’s matter of fact voice, _come on up,_ over the speaker box he nearly bolts back to his car. But he doesn’t, he forces his body to enter the building, push the up button, wait for the elevator. He’s trying to take deep breaths, _it’s just Andrew, nothing to be afraid of._ This, he knows, is a complete lie. Because Andrew is the scariest person in his life, by far. Andrew, who makes him feel things he’s never felt before. Andrew who’s so serious, so funny, so unexpectedly sweet. So…. Something else, something Steven can’t and won’t name. Something that makes his stomach drop when they touch, makes his skin tingle, makes his face burn red.

Steven is tentatively considering describing his feelings toward Andrew as a crush. He had thought all his life that he just wasn’t one for crushes, or that everyone just exaggerated what having a crush was like. But this situation, with Andrew… it seemed to tick all the boxes. Sweaty palms, blushing, heart racing, all kinds of _thoughts._ A crush… as he waits for the elevator, he’s turning the thought over in his mind, again and again. Naming it, he hopes, will help him get over it that much faster. If he can understand what’s going on, he can confront it, he can _Google it._ It makes him feel a little more confident, that he can deal with this situation without it becoming the life-altering thing he is afraid it will become without intervention. He needs to get home, and he needs to Google it. _How to get over a crush on a friend? A male friend? What if he feels like the best thing to ever happen to you, and the worst? What if you’ve never felt so comfortable and happy around anyone before? What if he’s so charming, so earnest, what if he has beautiful eyes, what if he’s witty and loves animals and is perfect in every way?_

The elevator dings, Steven gets on. He needs to Google it, but right now he has to go spend the evening with Andrew. He needs to focus on work, because deadlines are coming up and, despite his recent distractedness, Worth It really is the most important thing in his life, and he needs this season to be awesome. He’s not too worried, because him and Andrew are two of the hardest working people at Buzzfeed, and he knows they’re both unflinchingly dedicated to making Worth It a success. He thinks that even if he weren’t able to get his shit together in time, Andrew would probably do all the work without him, and probably wouldn’t even hold a grudge for it. Because at some point since they started this, Worth It has become _their_ thing, not just Steven’s thing. He thinks at one point he would have felt jealous, but he’s glad to share this with Andrew. That Andrew now seems to cherish what they’ve accomplished together just as much as he does.

He knocks on Andrew’s door, and Andrew answers right away, like he’d been waiting right there. Andrew’s smiling, a little cautiously, but still smiling, and Steven can’t help but smile back as Andrew moves out of the doorway to let him in.

Andrew closes the door behind them and is walking into the kitchen, talking to Steven over his shoulder, “I know we said we’d get take out, but I had some stuff in the fridge I had to cook, is that okay?”

Steven does notice the smell of cooking, and he nods, “Yeah, of course, I love your cooking.” Andrew looks happy with Steven’s comment, and turns to the stove where something is boiling. Steven’s a little embarrassed… he didn’t have to say he _loved_ his cooking, did he? But he resolves to shrug off the embarrassment as much as he can, and distracts himself by looking around Andrew’s apartment a bit as he stands in the kitchen. He’s been in Andrew’s place a few times, but he’s always a little bit awestruck by how nice it is. It’s open plan, and decorated really, _really_ tastefully. Nothing like Steven’s small, bare apartment. It makes him feel like a kid in comparison, honestly. He feels totally out of his league hanging out with Andrew sometimes, but especially at times like this, watching Andrew standing at the stove, checking something in the oven, with a dish towel over his shoulder. It’s so domestic, so adult. Steven imagines coming home to a place like this, not his shitty apartment that looks like it belongs to a college student. He imagines coming home to _this,_ to Andrew’s cooking, to Andrew’s nice ass adult furniture. He shakes his head, ridding the thought from his mind. Stupid.

They talk a little as Andrew finishes dinner and plates their food, about the plan for the night, what they have to get done. It’s a lot, but it’s manageable. Steven tries to get up and help Andrew get their plates ready, help him get drinks, whatever, but Andrew waves him off. He feels a little weird about Andrew doing everything, setting a plate of food down in front of him, offering him a bottle of beer, but it’s pretty nice too, domestic and warm. He hasn’t had a home cooked meal in weeks, and it looks really good.

It tastes really good too, and when Steven says as much Andrew looks supremely pleased with himself. They eat mostly in silence, occasionally each adding things they remember they have to do. Steven also periodically interjects to compliment the food, just because it makes Andrew look so damn self-satisfied. Steven thinks he can let himself have this one indulgence, complimenting Andrew, making him smile smugly like that, even if it’s not necessarily encouraging him towards his ultimate goal, which is to rid himself of these newly developed (more like newly accepted) feelings.

They move to Andrew’s living room when they’re done. Andrew sits on the bigger couch, and Steven goes to the loveseat after a moment of hesitation. It would probably make sense for them to sit on the same couch, since they’ll be working on stuff together, but Steven panics and goes for the safer distance. Andrew looks a little bit surprised at Steven’s choice, but has the grace to not comment as they both pull out their computers and get to work.

They work for a solid two hours, and Steven’s more productive than he’s been the whole preceding week combined. He’s sleepy though, probably from the big meal they just ate, and they’re both yawning.

“Dude, stop yawning. You’re making me yawn,” Andrew says seriously, looking over at Steven. Steven laughs,

“It’s your fault, you and your delicious, delicious carbs have made me sleepy!” Andrew rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling a little.

“I’m gonna make some coffee, do you want one?” Steven nods, and Andrew sets down his computer and gets up, going to the kitchen. Steven watches him from the couch, filling the kettle, grinding the beans (Steven just has instant at home, and here’s Andrew making a fucking French press, of course he is). Andrew turns his back as he waits for the French press to steep, leaning back against the counter, and he looks so good. He’s wearing a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his arms are supporting his weight on the counter, and he’s looking at Steven with sleepy eyes, and Steven’s a little bit overwhelmed, taking it all in. He, for the first time that night, remembers the party, remembers Andrew talking about Jesse, and wonders if Jesse had seen this exact sight when they were together. Maybe in the morning, Andrew looking sleepy, making coffee for both of them. Maybe he walked over and kissed him softly on the mouth, because Andrew looks so sweet in the mornings, with his hair still a little wet. Maybe Andrew leaned up and deepened the kiss… Steven can feel his heart clenching in his chest, so hard he actually has the urge to grab at it like he’s having a heart attack. Maybe he is, honestly.

“Steven?” Steven snaps out of his thoughts, his weird little fantasy – that didn’t even involve him, what the fuck, “What do you want in your coffee?”

Andrew looks slightly concerned, waving his hand to get Steven’s attention. How long had he been spaced out? Shit.

“Oh,” he chokes out, turning back to his computer and making himself look busy, “nothing- black, black is fine.” 


	4. Chapter 4

When Andrew returns with their coffees, he sits down right next to Steven on the loveseat. In hindsight, Andrew will realize that this was a pretty risky choice, but it makes doing their work that much easier if they can look at each other’s screens. It just… makes sense. It’s not like Andrew desperately misses that closeness to Steven, obviously. It’s not like he’s spent hours wishing they were back to filming Worth It, so they could be squished together on the same side of cozy little booths together, or in the back of a rental car, letting Steven rest his head on his shoulder…

They’re touching, thighs and hips and arms. He can feel Steven tense for a moment, maybe in surprise. Andrew, for his part, intently focuses on making himself seem as nonchalant as possible - because he should be, shouldn’t he? This is nothing.

“Okay, show me…” Andrew reaches over to use Steven’s computer and click on what he wants to see on Steven’s screen. Steven lets him, moving his hands to sit in his lap, and Andrew clicks through his many tabs, finally settling on what he wants to see.

They work together in mostly silence for a while, each sipping their plain black coffees. Andrew can feel the tension draining from Steven’s body the longer they’re touching, and it reminds him of that afternoon in the conference room, of Steven softening under his touch. Something about that thought makes his heart catch in his chest, and he inhales sharply, trying to catch his breath.

Steven jumps at the noise of Andrew’s intake of breath in the otherwise silent living room. Andrew’s breathing out a huff of laughter, ready to poke fun at Steven for his overreaction, but when he looks up from his computer screen, Steven has turned toward Andrew, and their faces are just a few inches apart.

The moment feels like it lasts forever. Andrew thinks he could count each of Steven’s individual eyelashes in that long, drawn out pause. They’ve been close before, but maybe not this close, and definitely not for this long. He feels like they’re on a precipice - that moment when you’re falling and time slows down, like the universe wants to give you one last chance to catch yourself, and save yourself the pain of hitting the ground.

He doesn’t know who leans in. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter, because as soon as their lips are touching they’re both leaning into it, moving together.

It should probably be awkward, as most first kisses are. It should definitely be uncomfortable, given the angle necessitated by their position, side by side on the loveseat. It’s not, it’s not, it’s not. It’s perfect. It’s the most perfect, most right thing that has probably ever happened to him, Andrew thinks. He feels this down to his bones.

Andrew moves his hand up to cup Steven’s jaw, trying to get a better angle to deepen the kiss, and like always Steven completely melts under his touch, his mouth slackening slightly. They’re kissing slow, but there’s something desperate about it too, and when Andrew pulls away for a breath Steven follows him blindly with a noise of discontent, like the loss of Andrew’s mouth on his actually pains him, and it makes Andrew’s heart clench, so when their lips reconnect Andrew pulls him even closer. Steven’s easy to manhandle, tall and awkward but malleable under Andrew’s hands, and he easily pulls him over so Steven’s straddling his lap.

They kiss like that for a long time, Andrew’s not sure how long. The kiss deepens incrementally, minutely, and they’re eventually full on making out, but still at that snail’s pace. Andrew can feel Steven trying to speed things up, but every time Steven gets antsy, fidgety, grabby, Andrew just touches him. Anywhere – he touches Steven’s neck, thumb stroking his throat. He touches Steven’s thigh, slides his hand up Steven’s shirt and strokes his rib cage, rests a hand on his stomach, and Steven relents, every time, falling back into pace. He maintains the speed of the kiss - slow, thorough, steady, no matter how Steven tries to push, no matter how many little unhappy sounds he makes in the back of his throat when Andrew doesn’t comply. He knows that if they speed this up, if things get more intense, if he lets Steven have his way, this will quickly get to a point where they’ll have to talk about it before moving forward, and that’s terrifying. Andrew wants to stay in this moment forever, in the languid, soft heat of their first kiss.

Andrew pulls back eventually, his chest heaving for air. The sight of Steven before him doesn’t help him catch his breath. Steven’s breathing hard too, and his eyes are heavy lidded, gazing at Andrew. Face flushed, shirt rumpled, lips swollen – he looks straight out of a wet dream, and Andrew can’t stop staring. He thinks that no matter how this turns out, he needs to remember how Steven looks in this moment, because it’s hands down the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.

The moment apart lasts longer than Andrew intends, because he can’t take his fucking eyes off Steven, but it’s long enough that Steven seems to come back into himself, and Andrew recognizes the sure signs of one of Steven’s anxiety attacks coming on.

“Steven…” Andrew’s voice is gruffer than he expected, and this seems to be the last straw for Steven, completely breaking him out of the haze of their kiss, and he’s climbing off Andrew’s lap. Before Andrew can even continue his sentence, Steven is up in a flurry of motion, clutching his laptop to his chest and stuttering out a few panicked syllables.

“I- I- Andrew, I’m-“ Steven’s avoiding eye contact, moving into the kitchen and shoving his laptop into his backpack sitting by the kitchen table, and Andrew’s jumping up from the couch and following him.

Steven’s frantically tugging at the zipper on his backpack, but it’s caught on the fabric of the bag. Andrew grabs Steven’s hand where he’s struggling, and Steven looks up at him, eyes wide and frenzied.

“Steven, wait,” he sounds more pleading, more desperate than he expects, and he cringes a little at the sound, but the tone must move something in Steven, because his posture softens subtly.

“Andrew, I have to go,” the words come out a little pained, a little desperate, but he sounds sure of himself through the panic, and all Andrew can do is nod resignedly, dropping Steven’s hand. He quickly fixes the zipper on Steven’s backpack for him, zips it up, and steps away. And with that, Steven is out the door without another word.


	5. Chapter 5

Steven drives home with the radio loud, drowning out whatever thoughts he would otherwise be having. His heart pounds the whole way, and he feels sick to his stomach, as he always does when he’s severely anxious. Once he arrives, he sits in his car in the parking garage of his apartment building for a long time, the minutes ticking by on the illuminated dashboard. His phone is sitting facedown on the passenger seat, but he turns it off, holding the sleep button for long enough that he knows he will have forced a power off – he doesn’t want to see what might – or might not -- be on the screen.

He eventually turns the car off (because he does not actually hate the environment), but he still doesn’t get out, go inside to his apartment, his bed. He sits there - in the dark parking garage, staring through his windshield at the concrete wall. His breathing has evened out for the most part, his heart rate slowed, the adrenaline leaving him exhausted, but his mind is still running. _What the fuck just happened?_

He’s confused. Because fantasizing about kissing Andrew nearly 24/7, fantasizing about being Andrew’s boyfriend, fantasizing about Andrew fucking him… that’s one thing. A problematic, slightly torturous thing, but he could deal. He had been dealing, however poorly. Actually acting on it, that’s something he hadn’t considered, not seriously at least. And now it’s happened, he knows what it feels like, and Steven can ignore fantasies, he can ignore dreams, but he doesn’t think he can ignore how it felt to actually be with Andrew like that, to actually feel his lips, his stubble, his hands gripping his hips.

He realizes he must have sat there in silence for a ridiculously long time, because by the time he forces himself to get out of the car and head up to his apartment, the oven clock tells him it’s after one o’clock in the morning. He throws his backpack and phone, still powered down, onto the couch. Normally he’d plug his electronics in to charge, but his phone slips between the cushions of his couch, and he thinks that’s an omen he’d better heed. He feels more exhausted – physically and mentally - than he’s ever been in his life as he takes out his contacts, undresses, washes his face, and climbs into bed.

\--

As soon as Steven’s conscious, he knows he must have slept in. The sun’s shining a little too brightly for it to be his usual 5:30 wake up time. He reaches for his phone to check the time, wondering groggily why his regular alarm didn’t go off, but when his hand just hits the bedside table everything from the night before comes flooding back. Immediately his chest is constricting with anxiety, and he buries his face in his hands, groaning. He pulls the covers back over his face, not ready to face getting up, finding his phone in the couch, confronting work. Normally he absolutely hates being late, but he lets himself lie there, wanting a little bit of peace before he has to deal with everything.

He eventually does get up. He grabs his phone on the way to the kitchen, turns it on. He listens to the notifications come in as he pours himself a bowl of cereal and sits down at the table. First are messages from coworkers – Jen hoping he’s okay, with a clear overtone of worry that spurs him to reply immediately. He replies to a few other texts wondering where he is, jokingly asking if he’s alive – he can’t remember the last time he was late for work, and he’s usually the first or second at the office, so it doesn’t surprise him to be receiving worried texts about his absence. It’s verging on 9:30, at least three hours later than he would normally be leaving the house.

Next are the messages from last night. One message and one phone call, both from Andrew. His voicemail box blinks ominously, and he scrubs a hand over his face. The phone call doesn’t surprise him, because Andrew hates texting, and if the matter can’t be taken care of in one or two short messages then he’ll usually opt for a phone call, always preceded by a _can I call you?_ text. Usually seeing that under Andrew’s name on his phone makes him flustered and excited, but seeing it now, time stamped 12:30 the previous night, just makes his anxiety ramp up even more. He momentarily regrets missing the call, but he’s also glad he did. He has no idea what he would have said – what either of them would have said.

That doesn’t stop him from wondering what Andrew was planning on saying to him had he answered the call. He wonders what he said in the voicemail he left. He doesn’t let himself speculate, because he knows he couldn’t handle the disappointment if he gets his hopes up. He considers deleting the voicemail without listening to it, but he stops himself at the last minute and places his phone back on the table, face down. He doesn’t want to make any rash decisions.

He finishes breakfast, plugs his phone in by his bed so it has at least some charge for the rest of the day, and then showers and gets ready for work. He’d usually spend at least a half hour on his hair, but he wants to get into work as quickly as possible, feeling increasingly jittery about his lateness, so he just throws a beanie on over his partially dry hair.

By the time he leaves the front doors of his building he’s jogging, because it’s nearing 10:30 and he wants to get some good work in before lunch. He remembers he agreed to be in another producer’s video today, and wonders what time that was supposed to be. The idea of missing it makes him jog a little bit faster, scrolling through his email on his phone to see if he had any information on it.

He’s distracted when he exits his building, and he fully runs into someone right outside the front doors, causing him to stumble and let his phone go flying from his hands onto the concrete.

“Shit, sorry, sorry,” Steven mumbles as he kneels to the ground to grab his phone and inspect the damage. He wouldn’t normally swear so freely, so casually, but he’s already stressed and anxious about being late, and now his fucking phone – yup, a new crack right down the center of the screen. God damn it.

The person he ran into has not reacted at all, standing so silent and still that Steven momentarily forgets that he actually ran into another person altogether. When he finally looks up from the remains of his cellphone, he realizes why – there’s Andrew, staring down at him, phone in his hand, awkwardly halfway raised to his ear. He looks apprehensive in a way Steven’s not used to seeing.

“I was just about to call you,” despite the hesitant look on his face, Andrew’s voice is even, and he reaches out to help Steven up from where he’s kneeling on the sidewalk. Andrew pulls him up easily, and Steven can feel he’s blushing now, the reality of Andrew’s presence directly outside his building setting in – the reality of just having barreled into him like an absolute idiot.

“Oh,” Steven breathes out, nodding. Andrew looks like he’s expecting more of a response. Steven wracks his brain for more words but they don’t come, so he averts his eyes to continue to inspect his smashed phone, a welcome distraction from Andrew’s heavy gaze. He nervously runs his thumb over the new crack that bisects the screen. It’s deep – he’s going to need a new phone, probably, or at the very least a new screen.

“You didn’t answer my calls, and then you didn’t show up for work… I was, uh,” he swallows, “worried.”

That last word comes out a little hushed, a little strained, a little like he’s telling Steven a secret, and it’s enough to make Steven look back up at him in surprise. Andrew’s looking at him… _beseechingly._ It’s not a word Steven would ever use regularly, but it springs to the front of his mind. Steven’s used to feeling like the desperate one, and the look on Andrew’s face throws him.

He looks put together – hair done, shirt ironed - but the bags under his eyes are dark enough that they practically look like bruises; all telltale signs of his insomnia acting up. Normally when Steven notices Andrew looking this worn down he quietly brings him a coffee at his desk, sends him a meme he knows will make him smile, and endeavors to turn down his usual zest for life to give Andrew some room to breathe. He wonders if he’ll ever get to do that for him again – if things will ever go back to being that easy.

“I’m sorry,” blurts Steven, suddenly feeling compelled to explain himself, to get that sad look off Andrew’s face. “I was asleep. I just saw you called, but I slept in, obviously- so I was rushing to get ready, and I didn’t have a chance to listen to your message, or-“

“Steven,” Andrew cuts him off sharply, and his hand jerks like he wants to reach out for him, but he stops himself. Or maybe Steven’s just seeing what he wants to see. There’s a few beats of silence between them, just staring at each other. Andrew seems to be searching his face for something. “Should we talk? About- about what happened?”

Andrew stumbling over his words is so unusual, so striking, and Steven desperately wants to know what emotion lies behind his rushed speech, why he’s tripping over himself when he’s normally so calculated and calm. He wants to know, he wants to ask, _how do you feel? What do you want? What are you looking for?_ He wants to say fuck work, pull Andrew into his apartment, and pick up where they left off twelve hours ago.

He wants to do all this. He wants to be brave for once in his life, to let himself enter the unknown. But a bigger part of him is so afraid. So afraid of fucking this up more than he already so clearly has, so afraid of fucking up his career on top of everything else. So afraid of the humiliation of being alone in this thing he feels – he thinks it might destroy him, if Andrew were to tell him to back off, to tell him that he doesn’t feel anything between them. It might actually kill him.

So he isn’t brave. He can’t bring himself to be.

“Can we just forget about it?” his voice cracks, and he wonders if that gives away how much he wishes he were saying something else – anything else, practically.

“Forget about it?” Andrew repeats, more of a statement than a true question, but Steven nods anyway, looking down at his sneakers, “Is that what you want?”

Steven pauses at that. _Is that what he wants?_ The question makes an unexpected shame well up inside him. He knows he has to lie, but it burns.

“Yeah, I think… yeah.” He wants to elaborate, tell Andrew how much Worth It means to him, how much their friendship means, but the words are caught in his throat.

The look on Andrew’s face changes immediately, Steven can practically see the shutters slamming, shutting him out. It’s with a careful neutrality that Andrew says, “Okay… okay,” He nods to himself decisively, and when he directs his gaze back at Steven he’s smiling tightly, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Steven parrots, smiling back tentatively. Andrew takes a deep breath,

“Okay, we should get to work then,” he’s not stumbling over his words anymore, he sounds like his usual, serious self, and Steven feels a burst of bittersweet relief. He made the right decision; things can go back to normal, he thinks.


End file.
